


Can't Say No

by flinchflower



Series: The 50kinkyways [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discipline, Non Consensual, Other, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt #7: Non-consensual.  Sam’s mistake on a hunt bring’s out John’s wrath, and a few realizations.  The non-consensual tag refers to father-son disciplinary action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Say No

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt was hard for me, I don’t write about non-con sex, so this is as close as I could get. It turned out to be a companion piece to Friction, from prompt #3. AU in that I refuse to admit the death of John Winchester. Wincest is only implied, there is nothing sexual in this fic (for once).
> 
> I borrowed the characters originally so I could use them as a writing exercise, to see how close I could get the characterization. Then I was corrupted by porn. And kink. Here’s a side of kink. This is simply for practice, not publication or profit. I’m in the hole by about 30 grand, if you’d like to seize my debt as punishment.

**  
Can’t Say No   
**

John Winchester’s last job had gone down easy, and he’d earned a pretty penny in a high stakes poker game afterwards. The tone of Dean’s voice in the message had told him he might not want to wait three days to catch up with the boys, that resting up could wait. Not, of course, that Dean would have ever said such a thing. He pulled up next to the gleaming Impala –freshly waxed, John could smell it when he got out of the truck. The door to the room opened, and Dean stepped out, blinking in the sunlight.

“Dad?” He sounded surprised. “Thought we were two days out from meeting you.”

He raised an eyebrow and gave his son a quirky smile. “You think I can’t tell when something’s on your mind? I taught you to report better than that message you left me, anyhow,” he said sternly.

Dean stiffened, then leaned up against the Impala, eyes narrowing. “Full report might tell you what was on my mind,” he said, launching into the story. John’s mind ticked along the details Dean gave. They’d found the campsite still deserted, tracked the spirit into the woods. Gotten a hold of logging camp records, figured out who the spirit was, what was on its mind, and how to take it down. Hiked up back into the mountains, shot the spirit down, and hiked back out, traveled a couple hundred miles to the motel here, heading for their meet point with John. Routine hunt.

“So what’s the problem you mentioned, if it was a routine hunt?”

“Try the part just before we take it down, when Sam jumps out in front of me and nearly takes the crossbow bolt in his heart. Same damn stunt he pulled in Maine, with that werewolf.”

“Fuck,” said John Winchester. For the love of Christ, what had Sam been thinking?

“It’s like he’s off in the clouds sometimes, I can’t get through to him. I tried, after, but he’s not saying anything to me now.”

“And just how did you try,” John asked, patience thinning.

“Same way you did after Maine.” Dean sounded nervous, understandably.

He’d spanked his younger brother, had he? Interesting. John contemplated that, wiping a tired hand over his face. “You realize I’ll be having a word or two about this with your brother.”

“I wasn’t sure,” he said. Dean’s voice all but bled relief.

John nodded with a grunt, and stalked towards the room. He yanked the door open, and when his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked at his tall son, sprawled out on his stomach on one of the beds.

“Fuck, Dean, I was-“ Sam sat up with a start, realizing it was his father and not Dean. And… oh shit. If the look on the man’s face was any indication, Dean had spilled the beans already.

“What do I always tell you boys about your language?” John’s voice was extremely mild, and Sam flinched. Wisely, he stayed silent, and then John’s roar filled the room. “You forget everything I taught you, boy?”

“Dad, I…”

“Tell me how it went down, son, and if I were you I wouldn’t leave anything out.”

No, no, leaving things out was a bad fucking idea indeed. His father hadn’t spent all those years in command of troops in Vietnam for nothing – the man could see a lie before it happened. Sam swallowed and started in, leaving nothing out.

“God help me, Sam. Where do I even start? Dammit, the list just goes on, son!”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking down. The apology sounded even worse than it had when he'd said it to Dean.

“I imagine you are. Get over here.”

“What?”

“One,” was his father’s only reply. He sat and stared as his father counted, and was shocked out of his astonishment when John moved towards him. He stood up in a hurry to meet the man half way, and five seconds later he was over his father’s knee. A flash of anger burst out of somewhere in him.

“You can’t do this!”

“I damn well can,” his father barked, and yanked Sam’s sweatpants down. Sam’s yells filled the room as John began spanking. Sam twisted and fought, telling his father six ways to Sunday that he was too old, he couldn’t do what he was doing, but John kept on. He watched the skin grow bright red underneath his hand, and increased the frequency and intensity of his swats until Sam was flinching and had quit fighting. Then he started the lecture, ticking off all the points Sam had ignored when he let his mind wander on a hunt. He wasn’t sure if it was the words or the spanking, but Sam let out a broken sob, and covered his head with his hands. John landed another half dozen hard swats, and slid the sweats back in place. He gently helped Sam to sit on the bed next to him, ignoring Sam’s flinch away from him.

“Dammit, Sammy,” he said hoarsely, “You boys are all I have. You’ve gotta be careful, son – I want to know where all this bullshit I keep hearing about is coming from – I can’t lose you.”

Sam nodded, and something kinda broke inside of him, because next thing he knew, he was reaching for John and burying his face in his father’s shirt, oddly comforted by the feel of the flannel on his tearstained face, and the scent of John himself, a blend of sweat, gun oil, and tobacco.

John wrapped his arms around his baby boy, feeling like shit, but not particularly sorry for what he’d just done. His big hand covered Sam’s head, fingers brushing the tousled locks. He listened to Sam’s pleas, and his hands tightened, hearing anger, fear, grief, a deep well of it that Sam had hidden behind flippant remarks and disobedience for a long time. And he was hearing Sam’s love. Finally, he pushed Sam away so he could look him in the eye.

“I never asked for this life, Sam. I couldn’t say no, when I found out I could get your mother’s killer. It’s what I’ll do until it’s done, and likely after – I know you’re with me on that. But I am NOT going to lose one of you boys to carelessness. I don’t care if I have to haul you over my knee and beat some sense into you through your behind, or spank you into talking to me – you’ll do it, boy, because you can’t hang onto this kind of emotion, and stay safe. Lord knows I should have Dean over my knee, too, the way he’s been behaving.”

Sam sniffed and looked hopeful, his bangs hanging in his eyes. “Will you?”

John laughed and pulled Sam in close again. “Likely. You boys get to stick close for a while, while the two of you remember how staying safe in the middle of hunting is supposed to work, and I imagine he’ll take a trip over my knee sooner or later.”

“You’ll never get Dean to consent to that.”

“I don’t need to,” John said gruffly, “He can’t say no - I’m your Dad.” He was rewarded by Sam sliding in closer for a better hug.


End file.
